


Pushing Boundaries

by ashkatom



Series: 100 Follower Ficathon [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dualscar is incredibly determined to get Sufferer to come out of his shell. Psiionic is a jerk and accidentally helps things along. Sufferer is utterly confused and would like to know what is going on, but in the absence of any common sense exhibited by either matesprit, goes along with them. Somehow, it is not a complete disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Filling Blanks and Taking Names](https://archiveofourown.org/works/338979) by [ashkatom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom). 



\-- crushedAdmiral [CA] has started trolling candidGovernance [CG] --   
CA:  surf   
CA:  naut ta be needy or anyfin but wwould you get your glutes back ovver to the hivve alreedy   
CG:  NOT TO BE A JOYKILL OR ANYTHING BUT I AM KIND OF IN THE MIDDLE OF A PSI-DATE AND IF I LEAVE HE IS GOING TO BE UTTERLY DEVASTATED AND ALSO BE ANNOYING AND YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT BECAUSE I WILL NOT.   
CG:  ALSO I’M GETTING A REALLY EXCELLENT BACKRUB, SO NO.   
CA:  howw are you efin online then   
CG:  I STOLE YOUR GLASSES.   
CG:  WHY ARE YOU EVEN UP? YOU’RE NOT NORMALLY AWAKE THIS EARLY.   
CA:  ugh you rebels an your sleepin patterns   
CA:  wwhale i wwas kind a awwake evver since you said goodbye wwhen you left   
CA:  so i took a showwer an then i wwas still tired so i sort a collapsed in your pile a blankets   
CA:  an they kind a smell like you   
CA:  an it reminded me a sevveral fins an that’s wwhy i wwant you back at the hivve   
CG:  OH.   
CG:  UH.   
CG:  I’M STILL KIND OF BUSY BEING SWEPT OFF MY FEET OVER HERE.   
CG:  ACTUALLY, WHAT THE FUCK, DUALSCAR, I’M PRETTY SURE YOU CAN TAKE CARE OF THIS BY YOURSELF. YOU HAVE A HAND.   
CA:  an i also havve a matesprit   
CA:  i’m naut beloww beggin an makin barkbeast eyes at you

“SF, you okay?” Psi rests his hands on your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck. You are still dubious about this whole two matesprits thing, but it does come with benefits, you have to admit. And Psi seems positively gleeful about getting to treat you all flush-like without being swatted off. You haven’t seen him so happy in a long time. “You theem dithtracted.”

You consider glossing over things with a white lie, but instead you shrug and tap Dualscar’s glasses. “The other matesprit is demanding my attention.”

Psi laughs and plucks the glasses off your face before you can stop him. “Ehehe, if he thinkth you’re- whoa, awkward.”

“Oh my gog, give those back!”  You make a grab for them, but Psi just leans back and holds you off with his psionics. “Psi, I am going to _murder_ you and construct a hat-stand out of an uneven number of your bones, _don’t you dare say anything_ -“

“Chill, SF, jutht thending my regardth-”

“I _hate_ you,” you seethe.

“No you don’t,” he says, and slides the glasses back onto your face. “Ourth ith a pitymanthe for the ageth, now shut up and enjoy your backrub.” He starts working his thumbs in circles just below your shoulders again, and by the time he takes away his psionics you are too wound-down to murder him.

“You suck,” you inform him as you begin damage control.

“You can’t thee, thinthe your back ith turned, but I’m waggling my eyebrowth.”

“You suck twofold,” you say, and scroll up the chat window.

CG:  OH SNAP NOT THE BARKBEAST EYES. ANYTHING BUT THE SICKENINGLY ADORABLE BARKBEAST EYES.   
CA:  uh   
CA:  surf   
CA:  you okay?   
CA:  you sand wweird   
CG:  BIT DISTRACTED BY MY OTHER MATESPRIT AND HIS INCREDIBLE SEDUCTION SKILLS.   
CG:  LIKE, WOW.   
CG:  SWOONING ALL OVER THE PLACE HERE.   
CA:  okay fin i get it you’re on a date wwith psi   
CA:  isle leavve you to it   
CG:  NO WAIT!   
CG:  I JUST HAD AN IDEA.   
CG:  A SEXY IDEA.   
CA:  surf seariously is somefin wwrong   
CG:  OF COURSE NOT.   
CG:  I JUST REALISED.   
CG:  MAYBE I CAN HELP YOU OUT FROM HERE.   
CG:  (:B   
CG:  (: B   
CG:  (:B   
CA:  ww   
CA:  wwwww

“Psi!” you shriek, and elbow backwards as hard as you can. He is too busy laughing so hard he’s actually crying to care about the pain you’re inflicting, although really you think your elbow may have come off worse in that round. “He’s stuck on wuh-wuh-wuh!”

Psi wipes his face with the heel of one hand, still grinning so widely that you hope his head will fall off. “Holy shit, did I break him? _Awethome_.”

“Not awesome!” You elbow him again for good measure. “Oh grist now I have to unbreak him, you owe me so hard right now, I am definitely going to get my own back next time you leave your husktop on-”

Psi licks the curve of your horn and you choke on your words. “It’th okay, SF, I’ll make it up to you.”

CG:  OH FUCK SORRY PLEASE DON’T DISOWN ME THAT WASN’T EVEN ME SPEAKING   
CA:  ww   
CA:  no   
CA:  there’s nofin to apoologise for   
CA:  an   
CA:  an i’m up for it if you are   
CA:  halibut wwon’t psi notice   
CG:  FUCK PSI. PSI IS A BUCKET-LICKING NOOKCLEANSER WHO GOT HIS HEAD STUCK UP HIS OWN ASS SO FAR HE CAN SEE RECURSIVELY OUT OF HIS OWN MOUTH AND BACK THROUGH TO HIS WASTE CHUTE.   
CA:  eww   
CA:  you’re naut so fintastic at this wwhole cyberin fin   
CG:  I DON’T SEE YOU DOING ANY BETTER, MR. OOH SURF I NEED YOU RIGHT NOWW PLEASE RAVVISH ME.

You push the glasses up to rest just in front of your horns and turn to look at Psi over your shoulder. “We have unanimously decided to disregard you,” you tell him. “Because you’re a jerk.”

“Ouch.” Psi slides a hand down your chest as he leans in to kiss you, stopping just shy of the mark. “Does that mean I should quit with the thweeping you off your feet?”

You roll your eyes. “Please, Psi, I’m not seven. It’s clear that you’re just trying to get me off my feet so you can take off my pants.”

“You’re wearing leggingth,” he says, and snaps the top against your chest to drive the point home. “Bethideth, I totally wathn’t. I wath going to make you dinner and feed you chocolate and thtuff. But if you’re all hot under the collar-”

“I don’t have a collar-”

“-from DS I gueth you should deal with that tho ath to thtop tempting me with your thcandalouth imaginationth.”

You stare at him, your jaw somewhere down in your lap. He stares back, smirking faintly.

“You are so weird,” you finally say.

“I’m jutht not all thtupid about being jealouth,” he says, and finally kisses you. Usually he’s as demanding and smug about it as he is with everything else, but right now he’s gentle, one hand in your hair sending tingles all the way down your spine. You gasp a little when he pulls away, although you will forever deny it. “I’m going to go make dinner. It’th going to take like half an hour.”

“But-” you say helplessly.

He lowers the glasses back over your eyes. “It’th cool, SF. I’m not being entirely altruithtic.” When you tilt your head questioningly, he grins. “By the time you’re done chatting to DS I figure you’ll be tho worked up you’ll jump me.”

You throw pillows at him until he leaves.

CA:  wwhale it’s naut my fault you smell so good   
CA:  i need ta start stealin your soap or somefin   
CA:  wwould that be wweird   
CA:  acshoally yeah it wwould   
CA:  surf   
CA:  you there?   
CA:  awwesome i’vve scared you off wwith howw much of a creep i am   
CA:  wwhale i’m keepin the blankets   
CA:  they’re comfy   
CA:  surf did the batteries on my glasses run out   
CA:  coddam it   
CG:  SORRY, I’M HERE. PSI WENT TO MAKE FOOD.   
CG:  FIFTY-FIFTY ODDS IT’S ACTUALLY EDIBLE.   
CG:  ...I USE YOUR SOAP, YOU IDIOT, MINE RAN OUT LIKE A PERIGEE AGO.   
CA:  wwhale that’s awwkwward   
CA:  so that shore wwas a long an awwkwward silence   
CA:  if you don’t wwant to   
CA:  i mean i can wwait   
CG:  UH.   
CG:  NO IT’S FINE, I JUST.   
CG:  HOW DOES THIS.   
CG:  I DON’T ACTUALLY GET HOW THIS WORKS.   
CG:  IF IT’S LIKE ROLEPLAY THEN I’M JUST NIXING THAT NOW BECAUSE THEN I’D START THINKING OF DISCIPLE AND WOW THAT WOULD BE SO HORRIFIC I DON’T EVEN WANT TO CONTEMPLATE IT.   
CA:  wwhoa calm your tides   
CA:  i guess it cod be a little like roleplay halibut wwe can just   
CA:  talk through it   
CA:  havve you seariously nevver done this before   
CA:  or read any porn   
CA:  i knoww you had internet as a pupa   
CG:  WOW WE ARE NOT GOING THERE.   
CA:  i put on my robe an wwizard hat   
CG:  THAT’S IT, I’M DONE.   
CA:  okay okay isle take fins seariously   
CA:  wwhy don’t you just tell me wwhat you wwould do to me if you wwere here

You bite back a sarcastic reply and stare at the ceiling instead. You’re not very good at this, you decide. You are prudish and shy on top of it and not even particularly turned on, and also confused as fuck by the constant push-pull between Psi and Dualscar, and you kind of just want to get it over with. It’s easier in person, in the dark, when you don’t have to think particularly hard about things.

CG:  HAVE SEX WITH YOU.   
CA:  surf   
CG:  I’M SORRY! I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DO THIS!   
CA:  do you wwant to though   
CG:  I JUST.   
CG:  DON’T WANT TO FUCK IT UP.   
CA:  surf you literally can’t fuck it up   
CA:  it’s just wwords   
CA:  an if it doesn’t wwork out then wwhatevver   
CA:  look you remora a feww wweeks ago wwhen you acseadentally pushed against one a my gills an got all self-hatin becod i flinched a bit   
CG:  ...YEAH, AND?   
CA:  i didn’t wwant ta interrupt the rant you wwere on becod it wwas a thing a beauty halibut i wwasn’t flinchin becod it hurt   
CA:  it felt amazin   
CA:  cod i’vve been finnin aboat it evver since   
CA:  i wwant your hands on me an your bulge in me an maybe your lips wwrapped around one a my horns

You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until you exhale. _Oh_. Suddenly you can see the appeal of this. You make a conscious effort to shove away all of your shyness because, really, is Dualscar going to judge you with a hand up his nook?

Okay wow that mental image is definitely worth investigating further at some future point.

CG:  GILL KINK, HUH.   
CA:  maybe a little   
CG:  I CAN WORK WITH THAT.   
CG:  I WAS A LITTLE CURIOUS BUT I FIGURED IT DIDN’T FEEL GOOD, END OF STORY. YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME EARLIER.   
CG:  NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I’LL BE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF IT.   
CA:  howw   
CG:  SLOWLY.   
CG:  I’LL START LIKE YOU SAID. I’LL FIGURE OUT YOUR GILLS WITH MY FINGERS FIRST, FIGURE OUT WHERE YOU LIKE THE PRESSURE AND HOW MUCH AND I’LL GIVE YOU AS MUCH AS YOU CAN STAND BEFORE GOING INTO A COMPLETELY INCOMPREHENSIBLE TRAIL OF WUH SOUNDS.   
CG:  WHILE NECKING, BECAUSE YOU MAKE THESE INSANE LITTLE UNDIGNIFIED GASPY SOUNDS WHENEVER I NIP THE CARTILIGE OF YOUR FACE-FINS.   
CA:  cod suf   
CG:  WHAT? YOU DO!   
CA:  no that wwas a good exclamation   
CG:  FUCK YOUR STEALTH PUNS.   
CA:  i’d rather you continued fuckin me instead   
CG:  DUALSCAR!   
CA:  wwhat noww you get shy   
CA:  cod suf if you leavve me hangin noww i might explode an isle make shore to get my brain all ovver your stuff so kelp me   
CG:  WELL THAT JUST KILLED THE MOOD.   
CA:  surrrrrrrf   
CA:  i am makin the barkbeast eyes   
CA:  they are fuckin deadly seductivve   
CA:  please continue text-fuckin me before i die a bein left hangin   
CG:  SO I WAS NECKING WITH YOU.   
CA:  yes that wwas a fin that wwas happenin   
CG:  SO I GUESS I START HEADING DOWNWARDS. EXCEPT INSTEAD OF GOING FOR YOUR BULGE I GET SIDETRACKED.   
CG:  AND LICK ALONG ONE OF YOUR GILLS.   
CG:  GENTLY THE FIRST TIME, BUT THEN ADDING MORE PRESSURE UNTIL YOU’RE FUCKING SQUIRMING UNDER ME AND SLICK ENOUGH THAT I CAN SLIDE A COUPLE FINGERS INTO YOUR NOOK WITH NO PROBLEMS.   
CA:  cod surf i need   
CA:  fuck i wwant my hands in your hair   
CA:  need somefin to hold on to

You notice that you’re fiddling with a strand of hair and frown at yourself, dropping your hand back to your side. You are definitely only doing this for Dualscar’s benefit, no matter what Psi thinks is going on, and no matter what how fast your bloodpusher’s beating or how giddy you feel says otherwise.

CG:  YOUR HANDS ARE IN MY HAIR THEN, TIGHTENING EVERY TIME I TWITCH MY FINGERS OR FLICK MY TONGUE OVER THE EDGE OF YOUR GILL.   
CG:  YOU’RE A TOTAL MESS AND IT’S KIND OF HOT.   
CG:  YOUR HAIR IS ABSOLUTELY RUINED IN THIS FANTASY PAILING BY THE WAY.   
CA:  don’t care   
CA:  keep going   
CG:  I’LL JUST KEEP CURLING MY FINGERS INSIDE YOU AND FUCKING AROUND WITH YOUR GILLS UNTIL YOU’RE BEGGING ME TO GET A PAIL AND ALMOST YANKING MY HAIR OUT BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE SELF-CONTROL OF AN EIGHT-SWEEP-OLD PSI.   
CG:  AND THEN I’LL LOOK YOU STRAIGHT IN THE EYES BEFORE DIPPING MY HEAD,   
CG:  RUNNING MY TONGUE FLAT ALONG THE LINING OF ONE OF YOUR GILLS. A DIFFERENT ONE, SO THE NERVES ARE ALL FRESH AND STUFF.   
CA:  oh fuck surf please   
CG:  AND THEN GOING BACK ALONG, BUT SUCKING ALONG THE EDGE INSTEAD AS I BURY MY FINGERS INSIDE YOU.   
CA:  fuck i can’t   
CA:  surf please i’m so fuckin close   
CG:  I’LL DO IT AS MANY TIMES AS IT TAKES UNTIL YOU CAN’T FUCKING HOLD BACK.   
CG:  I’LL WRAP MY FREE HAND AROUND YOUR BULGE AND SQUEEZE IT IN RHYTHM WITH MY FINGERS TWISTING IN YOUR NOOK.   
CG:  AND WHEN YOU COME I’LL LICK THE GENETIC MATERIAL OFF YOUR CHEST.   
CG:  ...DUALSCAR?   
CG:  DID YOU DIE?   
CG:  BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE AWKWARD.   
CA:  fuck   
CA:  no i’m here   
CA:  i just   
CA:  wwoww   
CA:  i think i betta clean up   
CG:  WAIT.   
CA:  shore   
CA:  i can’t acshoally movve yet so it’s naut like i havve a choice in the matter   
CG:  WAS IT. OKAY.   
CA:  cod surf   
CA:  wwe shoaled do this moray often   
CA:  <3   
CG:  <3   
\-- crushedAdmiral [CA] has ceased trolling candidGovernance [CG] --

There’s a knock at the door, and you whip your head around so fast you almost break your neck. Psi opens it and comes in, floating two plates of food behind him, and suddenly you are incredibly hungry. You take off the glasses and grab a plate out of midair, and Psi sits on the seating block beside you before grabbing his.

“Tho, how’d it go?” he asks, before stuffing a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“Seriously?” you ask. At his grin, you roll your eyes. “Of course you’re serious.” You shovel some pasta into your mouth to buy you some time, and have another mouthful when you realise it’s actually edible. “Onshe I finish eating thish,” you say around a third mouthful, “I’m jumping your bones.”

“Nah,” Psi says, and moves until he leans against your side. “I meant what I thaid. Totally pail-free date.”

You put your feet up on the low table in front of the seating block and shuffle until you can comfortably put an arm over Psi’s shoulder. “You? Choosing to not pail?” You squeeze him gently. “I still love you too, you tease.”

He nudges you with an elbow, but at least he’s smiling at you again. “Now who’th trying to get into who’th pantth?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't promptfic, and then it was, due to extremely polite demands! "I demand politely that you consider writing me gillkink AND h/c IN THE SAME FIC. Dualscar wants an in-person repeat of his experience cybering with Sufferer; things are amazing and hot as all fuck, but even with the best intentions in the afterlife and the enthusiastic consent of the owner of the gills in question, Sufferer isn’t an expert on how to touch gills, and Dualscar is left a little sore and breathless. And in need of fussing."

You are expecting things to be completely awkward when you finally manage to pry yourself away from Psi and trudge back to Dualscar’s wreck, where your cocoon of blankets now resides. Maybe if you are lucky, Dualscar will be asleep and you won’t have to do the, “So... how about that gillkink?” talk. Not that you mind the gillkink. You just don’t want to _talk_ about it.

Alas, you have no such luck. You climb into the wreck and go through the narrow hallways to the nutrition block, where you can see the pale glow of a light and hear water boiling. Dualscar is there, his back to the door as he waits on the kettle to boil. He looks different when he thinks he’s alone, you note, with the part of your brain that analyses people in the hopes of finding something good. The rest of your brain is devoted to the more important question of why he refuses to wear shirts. You give fifty-fifty odds to either he was about to go to sleep and slime is hard to get out of _couture_ , or he is trying to seduce you.

“Hey,” you say.

“Fuck!” you get in response, as Dualscar drops the cup he was apparently holding while waiting for the kettle. He fumbles it a few times and catches it just before it hits the counter, then casually puts it down and leans back. “I thought you were stayin’ with Psi today.”

“Nope, Handmaid took custody of him.” You enter the nutrition block to grab a cup. Tea is good. You can sip it during awkward silences and pretend said silences were deliberate. Only Dualscar seems to have a goal of breaking the awkward silence record, because he is standing _right next to you_ when you straighten up from digging a mug out of the cupboard.

“You’re looming,” you tell him.

“No, you’re just a guppy.” He tilts your head up and kisses you, snaking his other hand around to your back to push you closer. “Can I have my glasses back, you spectacle thief?”

“Smooth,” you inform him, and decaptchalogue them before putting them on his face. “If I forgot to sign out and you pretend to be me at Psi, I am putting a ban on glasses-related shenanigans.”

“Includin’ the sexy ones?” Dualscar does the I’m-thinking-about-scrolling frown. “Becod I’m naut shore I’m okay with that.”

You are not sure whether Dualscar is ever done with pailing. There’s probably a biological explanation for his complete inability to keep his hands off you, but really, he should not be able to pail again after... before.

Not that you can argue. What with Psi and Dualscar playing tug-of-war with your libido today, you are reasonably sure that you have gotten a case of matesprit whiplash and you are probably going to pail a wall soon. You just didn’t expect Dualscar to be capable of helping out.

Plus he’s probably going to try to initiate a Talk soon. Is using pailing as a distraction low? Absolutely. Do you care? Not at this juncture. 

“So, I was thinking,” you begin.

“Shockin’,” Dualscar remarks.

“Shut up. I was thinking that maybe we could...” You ghost your hands over his ribs, your fingers just barely pressing against his gills. The half-gasp he draws in sends a jolt through you that confirms that you are doing this. “Have an encore.”

You expect a witty comeback, but instead he pulls you into another kiss, more dizzying than the last. You attribute it to the fact that you’re up on your toes to try to match his height, and then bent over backwards some. You fist your hands in his hair to keep your balance and maybe preserve your lips a little because his teeth are sharp and you’re not fond of the sight of your own blood for obvious reasons. Before you quite know what’s happened, Dualscar is laying messy kisses down your neck and is unashamedly copping a feel.

You grab one of his horns and tug lightly. “Dualscar!”

“Mmm?” he says, before nipping at where your neck turns into shoulder and well fuck you’ve lost your train of thought. “Surf?” He loosens his grip on you and settles back a little, and now you can see him all flushed and messy, _for you_ , and you think it is to your credit that you don’t need a pail then and there.

You run a thumb along one of his scars, watch his eyes close and his lips part, and tell him, “I am going to pail you until you can’t move.” You press down on his bottom lip, and he flicks his tongue against the pad of your thumb. Your knees go weak, and you scramble to add, “But not in the nutrition block. Gross.”

Dualscar kisses the palm of your hand. “Anyfin else?”

“Yes.” You hold up your other hand and start curling your fingers inwards. “Makeouts recommence in five... four...”

You don’t get to one before Dualscar recommences makeouts. You manage to take several halting steps together in the direction of Not A Place Where Food Is Prepared, at which point Dualscar gets sick of the height difference causing the two of you to do the awkwardest dance ever and picks you up. You feel kind of stupid until you wrap your legs around his waist and can’t resist grinding against him, at which point the flex of your thighs so close to his lower gills makes him swear and _why_ is your block so far from the nutrition block, which genius thought that up, you are not a violent man but you- oh thank _fuck_.

You kick the door open and the two of you collapse in a tangle of legs and arms into your pile of blankets. Dualscar is already working your leggings off, but you’re so entwined with him that he gives up in favour of licking his way back up, tracing your stomach muscles and looking up at you and okay you didn’t _mean_ to make a noise that resembled a barkbeast tragically left out in the rain but you _did_. You cover your face with your hands and sink as far back into the blankets as possible.

“Surf.”

“Shut up,” you mumble through your hands.

You feel Dualscar’s weight settle against you. He grinds into you slowly, which your bulge appreciates, but you are not making the noise again _you are not making the noise again_ fuck.

“What happened to the dominatin’, goin’-to-pail-me-into-the-floor Suf?”

“It was just a chat,” you mumble. “It’s a lot more awkward when I’m making stupid noises and being an embarrassment to mutantkind.”

“What, stupid noises like what I make when you bite my fins?” He runs his nails along your ribs, and you moan before you can stop yourself. “Makin’ stupid noises is half the fun, seadiot. An’ I was promised a seariously hot re-enactment an’ Isle be whiny aboat it for days if I don’t have my way.”

You peek through your fingers. “That’s true. You do whine a lot.”

He hits you with a pillow. “Fuckin’ rude, Surf!”

“Augh!” You sort of- take what traction you have and roll, and suddenly you’re on top and a blanket is stuck around your ankle and Dualscar has a perfect look of surprise on his face. You blink and swallow, then say, “Tell me if I go wrong.”

He nods.

You start rocking your hips against his, partly because he’s as unsheathed as you are by this point and you’re both probably just going to have to throw away your clothes rather than try to salvage them, but mostly because, well, you’re startlingly turned on by having Dualscar under you and you have to do something lest you go insane. He gasps when you lick the delicate membrane of his earfin, and again when you start smoothing your thumbs along the slits of his uppermost gills. They’re different than you expected, giving easily to your touch, and you fuzzily wonder how he manages to defend himself if a solid roundhouse kick could hit so many nerves.

Seadwellers are weird.

You push harder, the very tips of your thumbs pressing into his gills, and bite down on a less-delicate cartilage spine of his earfin at the same time. He arches into you, a, “Ffffffuck,” escaping as he presses against you and digs his fingers into your back. You push back against him, not even bothering to silence yourself anymore. You kiss him and tug with your fingers at the skin just below his gill openings to make him gasp against your lips, grind against him to watch him tense against you and tilt his head back, even rub at the base of one of his horns until his breath is ragged and he’s a mess of _please Surf fuck please_ , then kiss his lips a final time before trailing your way down his chest.

You pause for a long moment, then finally slide off Dualscar’s pants, which are as ruined as you predicted. They end up across the room somewhere, and you’re too busy trying to ignore the squirm of Dualscar’s bulge against your chest as you lower your head to his second right gill and lick more gently than you want to. It has the desired effect of breaking Dualscar’s litany, his fingers digging into the blanket under him so hard there’ll probably be holes. You do it again before he can recover and try to ignore the pulsing of your own nook. You’re busy, shut it, body.

You’re not sure when Dualscar’s hands find your head, but at some point he starts stroking your horns base to tip in smooth, twisting movements and it’s your turn to stop dead due to too many nerves firing at once. Your arms wobble and you collapse onto him, making the stupid barkbeast noise again.

“Everyfin okay?” he asks, as he squeezes the base of one of your horns.

“Muh,” you say, in the most positive way you can muster. “Why’d you stop me? Do I need to call the complaints department?” You scrape your stupid blunt teeth along the skin of his stomach and slide a hand up his leg.

He runs a hand through your hair. “I just wanted to say you don’t have to hold back.”

Horns abandoned, you manage to pick up your head enough to look at him. “Hold back what?”

He’s blushing, which is an odd look for him given that he’s old enough to have been around the block enough times to see it develop into an entirely new block. In answer, he takes one of your hands in his and presses it to a gill, then pushes your fingers _in_. You squeak, but the look on his face stops you from withdrawing. He’s biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, but in a good way.

Okay. Okay, stop panicking. You rub gently along the gill’s inner surface, which is kind of squishy and ridged and you’re not sure if you should be completely grossed out or not but the moans Dualscar is making and the way he’s pushing up against you, his bulge slicking against your stomach settles that for you. You reach down with your other hand and squeeze the tip of his bulge, brushing your thumb against the hollow of its fluted tip and resume grinding against his thigh, because this might be about Dualscar but you are here too and you’re reasonably sure you will die if you don’t relieve some of the pressure you’re building up.

It only takes a minute or two until you’ve stopped thinking and started acting on pure instinct again, which is how you find yourself slipping your tongue into Dualscar’s gill, which, ugh, tastes kind of salty and blood-metallic, but he seems to be enjoying it quite a bit if the way he’s pushing your head down for more is any indication.

You quicken your pace with your hand on his bulge, flicking your tongue against the ridges inside his gill in counterpoint, and once you start doing that Dualscar starts shuddering under you and you only just manage to decaptchalogue a pail and fumble it in place to save your blanket pile in time. Freed from the task of getting Dualscar off, you can finally slip a couple of fingers into your own nook, but Dualscar swats your hand away.

“Dualscar,” you whine, your voice breaking embarrassingly.

“Get up here, you idiot,” he says, dragging you up. After a confusing moment where you’re not sure what he wants, you wind up with your back to his chest, one of his hands around your bulge and the other busy with your nook, the edges of the pail digging into your thighs. You tilt your head back and close your eyes, giving over to the sensations, but he mouths at your neck before saying, “Watch.”

“Why?” You open your eyes, only to find him looking at you in a way that would creep you out severely were you not quadranted with him. “What?”

He nudges you with a shoulder until you look down at yourself, and his arms wrapping around you. He kisses your shoulder then sinks his teeth in, hard enough to draw blood, and you gasp in pleasure and flip out at the same time. “Because you’re fuckin’ attractive as shell an’ I’m sick a’ you bein ashamed of yourself,” he says, before licking where he bit and redoubling efforts with his hands. You have the most confused orgasm you have ever had (saving, perhaps, your first wet dream when you woke up and thought someone had stabbed you) and sink back against Dualscar.

“Fuck,” you say, weakly.

“Give me some time to recover first, would you,” Dualscar says. You elbow him and roll over until you’re curled up against him, rather than on him. “Are you goin’ to sleep?”

“It’s performance art,” you say. “I am performing someone too fucked to go take ablutions. Literally.”

He laughs, moves the pail off somewhere - you don’t really care where as long as you’re not going to knock it over, at this point - and shifts until your head is pillowed on his shoulder. “If I wake up cranky ‘cause a’ no sopor, I’m blamin’ you.”

\--

Dualscar is, in fact, absent when you wake up. It takes you a while to convince your body to stand up, and when you check he’s not in his recuperacoon. Neither is he in the nutrition block or entertainment block. You find him in the ablutions trap, submerged and eyes closed, hair floating up a little. When you  poke him in the knee, he opens his eyes and blows a bubble of annoyance at you.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he sticks his head out of the water.

“Flushin’ out my gills,” he says, and flicks some water at your face. It’s salty. “Becod someone stuck his hands in them yesterday an’ it’s mildly unhygienic.”

“If you’re going to start decomposing, it’s very considerate of you to do so in the ablutions trap,” you say. “Would you like your mercy kill now or do you think you can tough it out?”

Dualscar starts laughing, but it turns into a cough halfway through that makes him wince. One of his hands goes to the gill he shoved your hand in and you are left hovering over him awkwardly because you don’t think hitting him on the back will help.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask, once he stops.

He shakes his head. “Naut reely, it’s just sensitive tissue.” When he sees your look of utter confusion regarding seadweller anatomy, he says, “There are lots of blood vessels so the insides bruise easily. It’s naut a big deal.”

“So I hurt you,” you say flatly.

He closes his eyes. “Surf...” When you don’t say anything - what is there to say, sorry I’m such a fuckup I can’t even pail you? - he reaches for your hand. “You’re takin’ this too seriously. Isle be fine in a couple a’ nights an’ it was more than worth it.”

You rub your face. It’s unfair to make Dualscar deal with your issues just because you no longer have a moirail to jam with about them. “Right. You’re sure I haven’t maimed you permanently?”

“I’m shore.” He kisses the palm of your hand. “As shore as I am that a cup a’ tea would greatly aid the healin’ process.”

“You are a gross manipulator, playing on my pity like that,” you inform him. “Here I am at my ailing matesprit’s side, and it turns out he’s just oversexed and playing me like a puppet.”

He waves his fingers in the air, pulling at invisible strings. “This is me walkin’ you to the kitchen an’ gettin’ you to make me a cup a’ tea.”

You stand and walk out, then stick your head back in. “Are you sure you’re good?”

He flaps his hand at you. “Get!”

\--

“This is woeful,” he says after his first sip.

“Blame your puppeteering,” you say, and sprawl over his lap. He hacks a little, piteously, but he’s been letting out little coughs every so often for a while now and insisting it’s fine, so the cough is no excuse for stealing the entire couch and maybe you also want to stick close to him in case he starts dying. “Are you sure-”

“Surf, I am fine,” he says patiently. “Stop pretendin’ to be Dol. One Dol is bad enough.” He pulls your shoulder until you’re lying on top of him and puts the woeful cup of tea on the coffee table. “Now stay there an’ shoosh.”

“Are you using me as a heatpack?” you ask, suspiciously.

“Shoooooosh,” he says, and pats your head. “Heatpacks don’t talk an’ I didn’t get much sleep.”

You roll off the couch and stand up in a fluid movement that should really have gotten a round of applause. Dualscar props himself up on an elbow, but your mission takes you out of his line of sight. After a few minutes you return with two blankets slung over one shoulder and a dollop of sopor on your finger which is slimy and disgusting and you don’t know how everyone else sleeps in it.

You dump the blankets on top of him and then carefully plonk the sopor into his abandoned cup of tea. It dissolves surprisingly easily, and you hand it to him with what you privately call your ‘Rosa look’ on. “Drink.”

He pulls a face but drinks it down. The sopor hits quickly, and he’s already yawning by the time he finishes the cup. You take it to the nutrition block then come back and fuss over the blankets until they’re aligned perfectly and unlikely to slip off. Dualscar holds them up with a questioning expression, and you slide in next to him,  resuming your role of heatpack.

He yawns again and pulls you and the blankets closer into him. “What’s with the fussin’?”

You fidget a bit, rubbing the toes of one of your feet against the heel of the other, before replying. “Rosa dosed me once when I was sick.”

“Yeah?”

“She couldn’t take me to a hospitroll,” you say to his neck. “So she dosed me with sopor and made me eat and drink when I was awake, and we almost got caught because we stayed in the one place too long. Sleep was the only time I didn’t hurt, so...”

“Silly Surf,” he says, with the peaceful tone of the soporific. “I’m naut that bad.” He pats your shoulder comfortingly, which is stupid given that he’s the one with a bruised lung. “S’okay now, I’m a purple. You can go to the hospitroll an’ they won’t krill you.”

“Fuck, you’re loopy on sopor,” you tell him, and curl further against him to eliminate any chance of him seeing your stupid face. You think the wrong person is being comforted here. “Go to sleep before you get it in your head to go play with the Highblood.”

His hand finds yours and squeezes lazily. You squeeze back and close your eyes, and for once you don’t dream of a better place. Instead, you dream of here.


End file.
